Christmas
by rorywaits
Summary: The Doctor finds himself in quite the opposite of the Christmas spirit, and it's Clara's mission to change that - until someone else needs a bit of Christmas cheer. Fluff and angst, if you can call my pathetic dialogue that.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Doctor Who, or any of the characters or settings from it. I do not own the song _Let it Snow, _the song_ Blue Christmas _or the_ Harry Potter_ books.**

**NOTE: This fic is pre-Name of the Doctor**

Christmas time had always been the Doctor's favorite. Not so much the weather, or the religious affairs, or even anything like snow, or lights, or decorations, or presents. The buzz in the air, the atmosphere floating through the chilly air and into everyone's hearts, with laughter and caroling and smiles and friends and family. It had always been his favorite; however, had is the key word in the sentence.

Christmas, quite honestly, as much as he loved it, was something he needed to give up on. Last Christmas, he had seen yet another one of his beloved Clara die, and then his obsession of finding out who this girl was, and how she was possible became so enormous, he missed another Christmas all together. The Christmases before the loss of Clara, and then the Christmas where he hadn't noticed his favorite buzz, had all been equally tragic. Death after love, destruction after peace - the happiest time of the year had simply become the most tragic.

Clara Oswald, of course, wouldn't stand for it.

"Come _on_," She said one day, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "You can't tell me you don't decorate your ship for Christmas. Everyone loves Christmas." she insisted.

"Not me," the Doctor grumbled, tightening his bow-tie, which was decidedly blue instead of red in a quite childlike effort to be as least festive as possible.

"Yes, you. We're celebrating," she decided, ignoring his protests. "Both of us, not me trying to hang up Christmas lights in the TARDIS and having it electrify me."

"_She." _The Doctor corrected. "Maybe she wouldn't electrify you if you called her the right name." he grumbled, sitting back down with a plop in the captain's seat, looking over at the short woman in front of him, who looked quite agitated.

"Ah, don't you go changing the subject! This is about you being un-spirited, not me calling your ship an it." she scolded, shaking her head at him and reaching out to yank the Doctor up. He dug his heels into the floor below, and couldn't help but smile as she tried to pull him up.

"You know, for someone so painfully thin, you're heavy as hell." She said, letting go of his arm and plopping down next to him. He grinned to himself as she rested her head on his shoulder and let out deep sigh. Her warmth filled him up to his brim, and as she looked at her, all cozy and red cheeked in her Christmas jumper, he almost wanted to comply with her suggestions.

Almost.

"You know." she said finally, turning just her head to face him, her nose millimeters away from his cheek, "I understand that sometimes certain times can be hard." Her voice lowered quite a bit, and she sounded small and vulnerable, which sent a pain through the Doctor's hearts.

"My mum, she died only 2 weeks before Christmas." she said, her voice growing softer still. "We didn't even celebrate that year. Didn't invite anyone over. Shutters closed, house silent, we didn't even decorate a bit, even though we started back before she died." she turned away from him and leaned against him once again. He felt a wet tear fall on his jacket, and he then realized Clara was crying.

"We didn't even greet each other on Christmas morning. He didn't even come out of his room. I was a kid, Doctor, and I had nobody with me on Christmas." she said, her voice rising back up and pitch and volume. "I know, that a lot of memories are hard for you, and you've gone through more pain than me." she said, now her voice seemingly frantic. "But sometimes, even though you don't forget, you have to be happy, you know?" he voice became soft again now, and it was less squeaky. "But you can't let whoever you lost make you lose yourself."

_I lost you. _The Doctor thought bitterly. _I lost the girl sitting next to me, Clara. I lost you._

Another tear landed on his shoulder, and he realized that even though he had lost so many people in the past, so many had left, so many were dead, and gone and never coming back, there was someone sitting next to him. Someone who wasn't dead, who wasn't gone, who wasn't far away, never to see him again. And that someone was Clara Oswald.

But no. He had too much pain in his hearts, too much loss on this day, too much that he could lose again. It was too much.

"You can." he breathed, "and I did."

Clara's face crumpled and fell, and her voice was still thick when she said, "I'm going to go now." she whispered, and she swung open the door and saw the darkness of space, stars twinkling in the blackness.

She closed the door quietly, and went down below the counsel room, where the Doctor could hear footsteps, and then a door slammed.

Clara wasn't dead or gone forever, but as he felt the empty space next to him, he knew that he had, in a way, lost another person that Christmas.

* * *

_Well the weather outside is frightful,_

_But the fire is so delightful,_

_And since we have no place to go,_

_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!_

The radio in the kitchen blared Christmas tunes as Clara smacked the cookie dough again as she kneaded it, her fist red and sticky from the smacks against the raw cookies, or the tears she had so persistently wiped off her face after she had left the room the Doctor was in. She knew that he had dealt with awful, awful things in the past, things that could completely break her, but it frustrated and hurt her to all ends that he could be insanely happy one moment and the next shutting out everything and everyone. The Doctor wasn't fond of crying, or yelling or talking the way Clara was to deal with emotions, he just completely shut down, disconnecting from any help sent his way.

_He doesn't need help, he doesn't need your help. _she thought, which eventually led to the heart-pounding thought of _He doesn't need you. _

Clara, in her childhood and even adulthood had always oozed confidence and sass, cheekily sneaking her way through any situation with wit and a smile. But as all the movies seem to go, underneath Clara oozed anything but confidence. There were moments, of course, where elation became arrogance and sarcasm became hurtful, but Clara was always able to stop herself before anything really became serious. She was kind-hearted and smart, but whenever her maternal personality was rejected, a bit of Clara deflated.

She had faced quite a bit of rejection.

As she smacked the dough yet again, making it a bit of a sticky mess, a figure appeared in the doorway and coughed a bit nervously and when Clara turned around to face the figure, she felt like picking up the dough (if it was that anymore) and throwing at across the room. The Doctor, coming in here and giving her that perfect grin and forcing her to smile back and hug him and make a cheeky comment - of course she wasn't forced to do anything really, but his sincerity often made her go in the direction of smiles and hugs.

He held out his hand, still not speaking, and Clara stared at the arm as if he had grown a third. "Come on," he spoke finally. "We've landed." Silence filled the room, save for the ticking of the clock and the crooning of Blue Christmas

_I'll have a blue Christmas without you..._

"It's true." The Doctor quipped. "My Christmas without you, Clara Oswald, would be bluer than the TARDIS." he smiled at her, as if his statement was brilliant.

"You're so cheesy, sometimes, you know that?" she said, but she was grinning, and it wasn't long until her arms were warped around his middle, and is arms engulfing her in an embrace.

Maybe, the Doctor decided, Christmas could improve over time.

And in his life, they had a hell of a lot of it.


End file.
